


Interruptus

by lasergirl



Category: Hard Core Logo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Probably one of the first stories I wrote for this fandom, way back in 1996. I'm not proud, but that's the way I wrote back then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interruptus

  
Well on second thought no, nearly a year later, it seemed too much to ask of Joe to give it up-- he knew what he wanted and would stop at practically nothing in order to get it.  
Believe me, if there's anyone in the world who knows that better than anyone, it's us--well, it's me.

See, Joe never was the kinda guy who would take no as a final answer.... and most of the time he managed to go from 'no' to some kind of assent that made people feel they hadn't lost anything.  
Except maybe a teaspoon of blood, an hour of your time....

But, see, the blood adds up-- and I know Joe never figured that out, and it was only fitting I suppose that his blood spilled at the end.

Well I never saw it.

I saw it coming but I didn't see it happen and that's the hardest part-- dealing with all this shit after the fact when fuck-- I wasn't involved.

Okay, so we fought, that much given.

We didn't always fight. There were some good times.

But Joe never knew when to quit when he was ahead and all he wanted was to get high and stay there. Nothing else mattered. Of course I'm hardly one to talk, but we fought over that a lot. And look at me now, ten months and not one drink, on the wagon finally and my liver's thanking me. And my career is thanking me....

I should say if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be alive. That's probably mostly true, at 14 I had the street smarts of a 20-year-old whore, but the conscience of a flea. I'd bite back. Joe just kept the muzzle on for a while until I could fight back with the best of them.  
Course Joe did a lot of fighting with me to get to that point--where do I even start?

Well I don't want anyone starting and fuckin' rumours about me cause they don't understand and I don't need that kinda bullshit right now. And I find it's really not as nice as I thought, thinking back about Joe and me.

Me and Joe.

Listen, if anyone tells you that Joe Dick was a fag you can kick them right in the teeth and cut their balls off. Cause I knew the man and it wasn't like that at all.  
Joe was a sexual creature, he had to get off or he got all violent and angry. Before he even touched a joint he was already addicted to sex. Sex and power. They were the same thing.

This is gonna sound like I was his bitch for ten years, but he fucked my brains out and I liked it. I didn't love him. He was never my lover. Love didn't enter into it. Power is intoxicating. I got fuckin drunk off him like no one else.

But just because I gave in to some big guy with a bad haircut-- well don't get me wrong, I love girls. I just-- there's something wrong with me and every relationship spontaneously combusts and bam-- there I am left holding the bucket.  
Wasn't all fun and games, a lot of times I got fucked up and dangerous, tried to jump in front of streetcars and taxis.  
I woulda succeeded, too, if Joe hadn't been such a dick about stuff.  
'Ya can't kill yerself you self absorbed little fuck, you still owe me 50 bucks and that blowjob ya promised me.'

It got pretty gruesome in the end, too, I wouldn't touch the guy until after he'd shot up or passed out-- I didn't wanna deal with his bullshit. Lots of times I fuckin washed the puke and shit off him and stuck him in a bed for a few days.

Well I felt bad cause it was kinda my fault, I had been fucked up for a long time (guess I had a bit of a masochistic streak) and I was just gonna drag Joe down with me.  
He'd probably be all tough and lie the fuck outta this one, but it was my fault he was a junkie all those years. Like he'd do anything you put in front of him in those days and smack was just another drug.  
Listen to that, Ain those days' it was like that then. I'm sure it'd be like that now if he was--

I said Joe was a junkie, and this was true. That I gave him the first needle-- yah. It was my way of getting back at him for fucking me up so many times.  
I say that cause I'm sure I only remember the half of it, when we were together--when we The Band were together-- I used to have bruises in places I could never remember hurting. But that's the way it goes when you're a stone crazy alcoholic junkie.... you never know.

Joe used to get himself in these ways, he'd give up eating and sleeping and just shoot up 24 hours a dau until he ran out of money, drugs, or choked on his own vomit.

What a selfish prick.

I don't know how we-- The Band we-- stayed together for so fuckin long, us with no management, and us all doing shit left and right that would get us all arrested-- man don't even get me started.

Seems now like there's no challenge anymore, I can go out and do a rehearsal or do a recording session, come home, jerk off and go to sleep. I can get up the next day and do it all over again and I think sometimes there must be more to this but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is it-- just waiting for life to come and cash the cheque....

I know Joe was depressed before he died. I got a couple of those late night come-back kinda phone messages-- he really was in a fuckin' bad way.  
Well he was in and out of hospitals and rehab clinics for the longest time. No on took him to a shrink.  
I suppose if he had a girlfriend she should have done that for him... I know it wasn't my job. I can't look after a deaf, aging alcoholic punk long-distance. Fuck, I'd kept him on his feet for so long it was time he lay down for a while.

I think for a moment I saw that big long scar on his wrist-- the one he got when he kicked the habit for good-- because I know for certain he never did any more smack afterwards--because I was there.  
Joe got this big fuckin' deep scar on his wrist when he promised himself he was never gonna touch the needle again. See, he'd used up all the good veins in his arm, even some not-so-good ones, he had infections and abscesses starting.  
I walked in on him when he was frantic, searching for a vein in his cock, anything he could shoot it in so he wouldn't bite off his tongue.  
I was drunk at the time and musta laughed at him, he nearly broke down, but he musta shot up because the next thing I know he's wailing and screaming on my and promising never to touch the stuff again.  
I joked saying if he wanted to be sure the he should just cut all his veins right there and be done with it.  
He got all quiet and angry then didn't say anything.

So he found a big knife and slit his arm open from elbow to wrist right there.

Fuck I nearly puked until I wrapped somethin' around it, towel or shirt maybe. He was lucky he didn't fuckin' kill himself right there. Bet he wanted it real bad though.

I don't know if that's what O saw when he was drinking his beer or not, it would have been anything, but when he leaned back like that and lifted his arm I thought I saw something that looked like another big deep scar gash run up his arm under the sleeve.  
He would never say anything either, just hold grudges. Always take them out on me while I was drunk or passed out or blissing or something-- the cocksucker. One time he got me so drunk I couldn't move, just kind of fell over the couch while he pulled off my pants and fucked me up the ass.

Oh I'm sorry that is probably too graphic, you don't want to think about two grown men rutting like sex was going out of style.  
Most of the time we didn't even live near each other. He had this nasty plywood basement shithole and I found a sweet bright little plaster downtown flat... he'd squat at my place a lot. The bastard knew how far to take hospitality.  
Well-- I just know that he was trying to kill himself and that eventually he did, that's nothing new... it was even fuckin' captured on videotape so you can't get me wrong.  
I watched that tape so many times... I couldn't-- still can't-- believe it. But I'll have to that the camera's word for it.  
What was I doing at that exact moment that Joe Dick shot himself?  
I was in the can, sniffing coke. Goes to show ya how much of a fuckin' loser I am, best friend's off blowing his fuckin' head off, Billy Tallent's off doing coke in the worst bathroom in Vancouver.

Someone ran into the club screaming, some young punk, 'Joe Dick shot himself! Fuck! Fuck!' and I'm thinking what the hell's going on, he probably shot himself in the foot, Christ. And I get outside and there's all these people just standing around something on the ground, shoulder'to-shoulder.  
'What's goin' on?' and I shove one guy aside, the one with a beer glass in his hand.

Sight hits me like a deep fist to the gut, on the ground there's Joe, all sprawled out like he was thrown away, there's a big fuckin' hole in the side of his head, blood everywhere, blood sprayed across his face, on his cheek. There's more under him too, getting near the edge of the sidewalk and the gutter. There's a gun, the same gun from Bucky's place, the asshole, he stole Bucky's fuckin' revolver to kill himself with. The side of his head is all fucked up his face is ok. It doesn't look like he's asleep, like he was drunk, more, and passed out.

Shit. I nearly fall over but some guy is standing next to me and keeps me upright.... my head is swimming full of blood and coke and fuckin' pictures of Joe angry at me and wanting to punch my teeth in.

We were best friends since grade 2. I still have the scar on my lip from that music class, Christ, and now all I can do is watch the same moment, over and over again on the scree and in my head I think-- well, there must be more to life.

When we die does everyone just turn their heads because its hurts too much?

If I'd have been able to go back and do it all again I would, everything up to the point where I became a self-serving arrogant asshole prick. Up to the point I pretty much ripped Joe's heart out of his chest and crushed it under my boot. The guy was hurting, obviously. In a lot worse shape than he woulda given on, but.... well....  
We're all too immature to deal with this shit anymore. No more Hard Core Logo. Let it go, it's over.

Last time I saw Joe Dick he was stiff and cold. Hair kinda brushed back, dressed in a new suit and a new tie, flat on his back, arms folded over his chest. Eyes closed. But he looked calm, kinda restful, no need for junk, no need for worry. Man the poor guy got everything all fucked up and he's never gonna get to fix it now.

Last time I saw Joe Dick he was dead and I was trying to be poetic, I stuck a guitar pick in this breast pocket and kissed him on the forehead.

Yah.

I don't think I'll be kissing anyone for a very long time.

END.


End file.
